


Ain't No Love (In the Heart of the City)

by BSparrow



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Grand Theft Auto Setting, Fake AH Crew, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-25
Updated: 2015-03-25
Packaged: 2018-03-19 14:57:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3614160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BSparrow/pseuds/BSparrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Geoff hasn't been himself lately and Ryan sets out to make him feel better the only way he knows how. The result is predictably disastrous for the city of Los Santos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ain't No Love (In the Heart of the City)

It’s summer in Los Santos, just before sunset, and the city is burning.

The city is burning and the man who lit the fuse is running, laughing like a maniac. It’s the first time Ryan’s seen Geoff smile in weeks.

* * *

The whole thing started, as most of the chaos does in Los Santos, with Geoff’s bad mood. When Ryan arrived at the penthouse just before 4 pm, Geoff had only just woken up. He was hung-over and pissed off, his usual state as of late, and had apparently decided that the place was too quiet. His way of solving that was to shatter an entire cabinet full of fine glassware, piece by piece, against the wall.

He didn’t acknowledge Ryan’s presence and Ryan didn’t make a move to stop him. Not when Geoff had his big pistol shoved so carelessly into the sagging waistband of his pants. No, Ryan didn’t have a death wish (despite what most of the crew thought) so he just opened a bottle of Maker’s Mark, set it on the kitchen table, and settled down to wait.

And sure enough, the anger ebbed as soon as Geoff ran out of shit to break and he joined Ryan at the table. A few long gulps of bourbon chased the fire out of his eyes but he still looked haunted, like a stranger. Ryan didn’t realize he was staring until Geoff snapped at him.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Ryan raised a brow, carefully relaxing his features into a blank stare.

“Like you fucking feel sorry for me,” Geoff spat and then tilted the bottle back again. “I don’t need your pity, Haywood.”

“No pity here, Geoff,” Ryan told him honestly, quietly. “It just seems like something’s been bothering you lately and I’m wondering what’s going on.”

“What’s going on? You want to know what the fuck is going on?” Geoff’s incredulous voice raised a few octaves, cracking under the pressure. “Well, let me tell you! How about this? Every fucking heist we’ve planned in the last six months has failed spectacularly. We don’t have enough cash moving through the organization to support everyone who needs supporting. People are starting to say I’m losing my touch which means every fucking dickhead with a gun and a dream is coming out of the woodwork to challenge my hold on this city. I can’t even leave my goddamn house anymore without someone trying to put a bullet between my eyes.”

Ryan sat back in his chair, a little stunned by the force of Geoff’s anger, his frustration.

But Geoff wasn’t done. “And where is everyone, huh? Tell me that. Where’s my so-called crew? Not here. Ray’s halfway across the country, taking freelance jobs. Michael and Gavin are holed up in their fucking love nest, and Jack’s been out of state doing business for weeks. Do you know how long it’s been since we’ve all been here together?”

Ryan shook his head.

“Two months. It’s been two fucking months since we’ve all been under the same roof.” Geoff broke off, staring down into the bottle. When he spoke again, his voice was a little softer. “And my whole body fucking hurts, Ryan. Every goddamn day. Too many broken bones and near misses. My ears ring all the time.”

Ryan understood that all too well. He looked down, a little overwhelmed by seeing the dam burst up close. When he snuck a quick glance at Geoff, he saw that he looked embarrassed by his outburst.

Ryan felt a rush of sympathy for his boss, a feeling he was unaccustomed to, and it wasn’t pleasant. But fortunately his mind was already working, wheels turning, plans forming and shaping themselves. Geoff was well on his way to finishing the bottle and Ryan reached out, tugging it away from Geoff’s lips.

“Take it easy on that stuff, okay?” Ryan suggested in a careful, neutral tone.

Even so, pure, unrestrained fury swept across Geoff’s face. “Why?”

“Because I’ve got plans for you. For us.”

That clearly caught him off guard. His brows shot towards his hairline. “What kind of plans?”

Ryan smiled. “Blowing-shit-up plans.”

* * *

The place goes up beautifully, raining debris down the whole city block. It’s a swirling inferno in no time, the warm summer breeze catching the flames and spreading them to the buildings nearby. He can feel the heat of it on his face, hear the crackling of the fire consuming everything in its path. Geoff’s staring up at it in wonder, looking every inch like the insane pyromaniac he is. But Ryan understands. Like Geoff, he’s always appreciated a good blaze.

It’s a place they’ve been meaning to take down anyway, a rival’s warehouse. So not only is it fun, it’s productive. And goddammit if it isn’t nice to see the weight of the world lift from Geoff’s shoulders, to see the worry lines fade from his face.

As always, the cops arrive quicker than expected. The smoke from the fire gives Ryan and Geoff some cover but makes it hard to navigate over the debris littering the streets. They get separated during their escape but he can hear the comforting rat-a-tat of Geoff’s stupid Mini-Uzi, his fucking pride and joy, somewhere to his right.

They’re holding the police off fine until some of the fuckers get wise and circle around to cut them off from behind. Getting it from both sides slows them down and already the smoke is fading as the wind shifts.

A bullet whizzes by Ryan’s head, too close, and he quickly ducks behind a police car. The red and blue lights are still flashing and the driver is still behind the wheel, limp in his seat with one bloody hand dangling out of the open door. Ryan can hear the crackling static of the police radio inside, the dispatcher’s frantic voice spouting off a seemingly endless list of numbers and instructions.

Across the street, he sees Geoff stopping to reload in an alley. One of the braver officers takes advantage of the lull in gunfire and advances in Geoff’s direction with his gun drawn. Ryan curses under his breath and takes aim but he can’t get a bead on the guy from his position.

Geoff doesn’t even know what’s coming, he realizes, and the blood in his veins turns to ice. _Fuck, fuck, fuck._ There’s no time to call out to him, to warn him, so Ryan does the only thing he can. He throws himself out of cover, lines up the shot, and puts a bullet in the cop’s head just as Geoff slams the clip home with his palm.

Geoff turns, surprised, in time to see the man drop to the pavement. His eyes meet Ryan’s for the briefest moment, fiery blue, and then the bullets are flying again as Ryan dives for the safety of the police cruiser. He catches a bullet in the bicep as he goes down and lands hard, the asphalt tearing open his palms.

The pain pulses through him, sharp and white hot, but it’s nothing he can’t handle. He’s had worse. He scoots himself across the pavement until his back is against the bumper, taking a moment to inspect the damage.

He’s bleeding like a fucking stuck pig but it’s really nothing more than a flesh wound. He clamps his hand down over it and scrambles to reload with what little ammo he has left. He hadn’t accounted for a situation like this when he was packing up their gear and he’s pissed at himself for that. If there’s one hard, steadfast rule in their world, it’s to always expect the unexpected.

Chaos erupts somewhere behind him. He hears shouting, shooting, and another small explosion but he doesn’t have time to see what’s going on. His hands are slick with his own blood and it’s slowing him down. Just as he’s done reloading, a shadow falls over him and Ryan knows he’s dead. He’s fucking dead.

He looks up to see a sweaty, heavyset cop. The man has his gun drawn, aimed at Ryan’s head, but Ryan can see that his hands are shaking. He’s scared to come any closer and he’s screaming something at Ryan, his face so red it’s verging on purple. But Ryan’s heart is throbbing so loud in his ears that he can’t hear a goddamn thing.

There’s movement behind the cop, a familiar figure stalking forward, quick and silent. Ryan lifts his hands, shows the cop his bare, bloodied palms to buy some time.

He tries to focus on the officer, on the trembling gun, but Geoff with his butterfly knife in his hand is a hypnotizing sight. He has a sort of deadly grace about him, like a big jungle cat. The knife spins around those tattooed fingers, dancing through the air in a silver blur and catching the fading sunlight. Obviously he's showing off, aware that Ryan is watching. It’s fucking obnoxious but even so, Ryan can’t look away.

The cop notices, of course, but before he can turn, Geoff catches him by the hair, jerks his head backwards against Geoff's shoulder, and drags the knife swiftly across his throat. A spray of blood fills the air, paints the side of the white car red, and still Ryan can only stare as Geoff slowly, carefully lowers the dead man to the ground.

A few heartbeats pass in silence and then Geoff is smiling, offering Ryan his hand and pulling him to his feet.

“Now we’re even,” he tells Ryan, as if it matters. As if they’re keeping score.

Before he can blink, Geoff’s face is far too close to his own and then he’s kissing him hard, one bloody hand at the back of his head and the other gripping the front of his shirt. It’s too quick for him to even get a good taste Geoff’s lips but his own burn like the city behind them and _fuck,_ he wants more.

But Geoff reaches for their last grenade, pulls the pin, and tosses it at the fast-approaching police car coming up the street behind Ryan. The explosion covers them as they run for the alley, climb a fire escape, and make their way across the rooftops. They don’t have long; Ryan has no doubt that the police have a chopper in the air by now.

But Geoff stops to look down on the carnage he’s created, a vengeful god with a beatific expression on his face. “That was beautiful, dude. Jesus, I think I jizzed my pants.”

“Yeah? Thought I was gonna shit mine for a minute there.”

Above them, the sun gasps its dying breath and the light is pure gold on Geoff’s face as he throws his head back and laughs at Ryan. He laughs like he doesn’t have a care in the world, like they’re not bleeding, like they don’t have a shitload of cops up their ass, like they didn’t just commit enough felonies to get them both the death penalty.

He laughs and god, in that moment, Ryan loves him.


End file.
